Juxtaposition
by WhisperedMuse
Summary: Post WWRY. You could still hear it. The beat of ‘We Will Rock You’ reverberating through your very soul. It was so sweet. The sweet feeling of victory. But someone wasn't celebrating. Rated T for language and themes.


My first fic for the WWRY fandom (and yes it's an actual WWRY fic! Shock horror!) I took action because I'm fed up of seeing trash about boy bands in here, so thus this is being published :) Hope you all enjoy!

Warning: Strong language and references to self harming.

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For now, it seemed, the battle was won. The Dreamer had fulfilled the prophecy, found his girl and had aided thousands of people to finally break free. The one song they liked to call 'We Will Rock You' continued to play out across the world, its rhythm becoming infamous—a never ending circle of sweet, sweet music that travelled to the corners of the digital world. With all that firmly in mind, the Bohemians took it upon themselves to celebrate at their new venue. The Heartbreak Hotel had been destroyed completely just over a month ago and the group of rebels took refuge in the place they like to call the 'Hotel California'.

Similarly to the Heartbreak, the bar was relatively big (if not poorly constructed from old sheets of metal) and this was where everyone was gathered now—revelling in the success of the Dreamer and his Bad-Arsed babe. Ale flowed freely from the many barrels lining the back of the bar. Pop was hastily skidding from one end of it to the other, flooded with more orders from the drunkenly-impatient crowd of bohemians gathering around him. Eventually though, the real music began to play and the make-shift dance floor that had been set up in the middle of the building began to fill. Drunk with joy as well as being intoxicated by booze, the few inhibitions in the room were lost; only to be replaced with a fire, a passion and an ecstasy so great, that no-one could not be swept up into 'the vibe'. The rock n' roll, the freedom and the song. If you stopped long enough to listen, you could still hear it. Still feel the beat of 'We Will Rock You' reverberating through your very soul. It was so sweet. The sweet feeling of victory.

However, if you had stopped long enough to feel the pounding pulse, you would have surveyed your surroundings and seen, amongst all the wonderful chaos, a solitary figure; swaying ever so slightly from her perch on a stool. Her blonde hair resting in a matted mess on her back and shoulders. And if you had taken time to observe this person even more closely, you would have noticed under the glare of the neon lights among the darkness; the glint of metal.

This was exactly what Galileo Figaro decided to do in amongst the life of the party. He had to remind himself of what was real—what he'd achieved over the past few hours. He wanted to continue dancing and singing with the best of them, but first he had to pause. To breathe in the rhythm of the night; that beat that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was when he paused for breath that he layed eyes on the figure at the bar. She was not swaying now—not even a little—but her position was exactly the same. He too noticed the small glint of something shiny and, curiosity getting the better of him, he started to walk over. A few voices broke through over the music and he picked up a few sentences.

'_Let's rock this joint!' _

'_Everybody Partay!' _

And the one that he was dreading the most…

'_Give us a song Gazza!'_

That voice belong to Scaramouche—he knew that much. Could they not let him be for a few moments so he could check on his friend at the bar? Not wanting to draw too much attention to her, he turned and winked at Scara, promising: "Maybe later." Something he didn't expect though, was the crowd turning the conversation around.

'_Well if the Dreamer won't give us a song—who will?'_

'_I know! Let's get Meat to do it!' _

Chants of 'Meat' could be heard throughout the room and Galileo feared that this may not turn out as expected. When no-one jumped onto a table to sing in a drawling Scottish accent, the bohemians began to wonder where their semi-appointed leader was. Confused eyes scanned the room. Dancers stilled on the floor and it felt like the room was starting to tense. The music's volume decreased until Charlotte Church managed to locate the Scot—sat alone on her stool at the bar. Trying to avoid attention himself, Pop stood towards the back of the bar, polishing an already perfectly clean glass until he thought he would wear it thin.

"Give us a song Meat!" A voice roared from the crowd, nods and affirmative syllables were voiced in eagerness. The whole room waited in anticipation of the answer—hoping that the lively Scot would decide to entertain them as she had so many times before. Yet no answer came from Meat Loaf. She made no effort to turn around and grin her lop-sided smile. She just sat. A faint clicking sound was heard and the familiar glint appeared on the bar in front of her, followed by another click; after which the sparkle disappeared. With a lot of muttering and shrugging, the bohemians went back to dancing. All except for one that is. Galileo was intent on getting to the bottom of what was wrong with Meat, even if it took him all night—he'd find out what it was.

Cautiously, he approached the bar and leaned up against it. "Meat?" He questioned. No reply. Not even a look. Gaz could hear it clearer now, a clicking sound repeating over and over again, much like the beat to the infamous song did.

**Click. Click. Click. Click.**

Gazing down, he realised that the source of the noise, and the flash, was in fact a penknife being opened and closed. Over and over again. This item seemed to be the sole focus of Meat at that point in time. With a flick of her finger she would press the release, opening the knife so the blade protruded from the handle. Its sharp edge glared at everyone with an ominous shadow. Then, as quickly as the blade came out, it was folded back in again by Meat's thumb. Frustrated at not having a reply first time around; Galileo tried to speak again. "Meat? Are you alright…?' This time a sinister smile appeared on the rebel's face ad she opened her mouth to reply.

"Aye Hen, I'm fine."

--

She knew it would not have been too long before someone would have come to talk to her—especially since she just turned down the chance to show off, drink and have a good time. Silently though, she prayed it wouldn't be him. But life was a bitch wasn't it? So of course it was him in the end that came… The great Dreamer himself. For so long now she'd hidden away her feelings, concentrated on the music, the vibe... Survival. She'd forgotten Gaz was the reason he wasn't there to celebrate the victory too. Now they had won—what were they supposed to do? Was it all so amazing? Was it worth dying for in the end? All she knew was nothing was worse than what she was feeling now. Death would be an easy escape. It was what she longed for. It was what she dreamed of…

--

"Aye Hen, I'm fine." Gaz sighed.

"You don't look fine…" Another flick of the knife. He sighed. "Talk to me…" He gently placed a hand on Meat's shoulder, hoping to get something more out of her. She quickly shrugged him off, harshly whispering to him.

"Don't fucking touch me Gaz." Galileo withdrew his hand quickly. That was a reaction he never expected from Meat Loaf.

"Okay, I won't touch you again…" Studying her face properly for the first time, he realised that her expression was vacant, as she stared straight in front of her—not even at the knife anymore. Tear tracks stained her blotchy cheeks; they ran into her hairline, making her hair look even more untidy than it normally was. "Please talk to me Meat… We're all worried about you…" But this time, Scaramouche had stopped on the other side of Meat Loaf, giving her friend a concerned look before shooting a puzzled glance at Galileo. Their connection was lost instantly as they heard a small voice begin to sing. It wasn't a soulful song, however, it sounded like a voice that had lost all feel, lost the vibe. Like a shell…

'_This thing, called love… I just… Can't handle it…'_

"Meat…" Scara tried her best to intervene but Meat Loaf spoke over her.

"I can't take much more of this. This… celebration. We won… But I lost the most precious thing of all…" She laughed bitterly despite herself, still not looking at anyone. "I still can't sleep, you know? I dream of him. All I do is shut my eyes and there he is… His smile, his body..." Her voice cracked slightly. "They burn under my eye-lids and I find myself wondering what I have left to live for."

Galileo interrupted, shocked. "That's not true! You have us, the song—"

Suddenly Meat's mind flashed to a few hours previously—back to when she had heard the beat of that song. **Boom. Boom. Clap. Boom. Boom. Clap.** All the memories of Brit came flooding back to her, their dreams, his face… And then the day he died. The day she watched him sacrifice himself for one boy and one vision. For that one song. She would never forget that beat.

"The song!" Meat cut in, a malicious smile playing on her lips. "Of course I have the song! Yours isn't it lover boy? But then he died for you didn't he? A lost, lonely little boy who dreamt words in his head! You've got it all Galileo! Fame, your music, your girl. Look at you! Galileo fucking Figaro. You're nothing but a boy. You don't know how I'm feeling so leave me the fuck alone alright?" Taken aback, Galileo withdrew and gave Scaramouche a pleading glance. She sighed heavily, scared for her friend and what she might do to herself… Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small cut on Meat's wrist. Gently, she edged her hand closer to hers.

"Meat? Babes can I see your wrist please?" Meat just offered her free hand out to Scaramouche, still flicking the penknife open and closed with the other one. Scara quickly turned over her friend's arm and found several scars lining her wrist. She assumed it would mirror her other arm. Tracing the scars gently with her fingers, Scaramouche broached the subject with the older girl next to her. She still stared straight in front of her and it worried Scaramouche that she was so unresponsive. Cautiously, she reached out her hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Meat's ear as she asked her next question. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" She prompted gently.

"I'm in pain." Meat answered simply. "The most unbearable pain. I sit here at night and I drink. And I drink, and I drink and then I go to bed and I lie awake trying to imagine life without him… Pick myself up and get on with things… But I can't… I drink to forget Scara, and it doesn't work!" She took a shuddering breath. "So I found this…" For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Meat looked down at the knife in her hand. "It was his. Used it to cut things free if we thought we could use them for making instruments. If drinking doesn't work, all the memories reappear and I feel hollow. I can't bear to relive any of them—especially the last one… the one from the Heartbreak… So I cut myself. And it makes the pain disappear. No more hurt, no more emptiness, and no more heartache. Just pure physical pain. A distraction of sorts." She stopped a small smile playing on her lips. "And then I don't hurt anymore"

Suddenly, the speakers around the bar, which had previously been broken, burst into life. 'Crazy Little Thing called love' played out loudly across the room and Meat jumped in her seat. Her eyes darted around the room before she fixed them on their usual spot again. "Only the good die young…" She whispered. The tears that had been present in her eyes began to fall. Scaramouche wrapped her friend up in her arms and allowed her to cry, with Galileo and Pop looking on sadly.

This sat little interlude took place in a time of victory and joy. The dancing continued around the miserable bar; everyone too intoxicated to make it there, let alone realise there was an air of depression surrounding it.

Depressed happiness.

Juxtaposition at its worst.

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Thank you for taking time to read this!  
Reviews are loved and cherished. Flames are merely laughed at. Conrit appreciated if anyone would like to offer it.  
xx


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